Admitting my past relationship with J-Hawk now, while we were standing over his bullet-riddled and carved-up body, might cause problems I wasn’t prepared to deal with. I kept my response simple. “Yeah. It’s Jason Hawley. The guy from Titan Oil.”
“Has anything been moved?”
His question was far less accusatory than the last time we’d had this conversation. “No. Everything is exactly as I found it.”
“Good. Now I’m gonna ask you to head on over to the ambulance and wait.”
“I can’t go home?”
Dawson frowned. “We’ve done this enough times that you know the drill by now.”
“Stay close but stay out of the way,” I said to his retreating back.
I tugged my jacket more securely around me and joined the people clustered between the patrol cars and the ambulance. Kiki nodded to me before she joined Dawson at the scene.
Three firemen were talking in a closed group. All guys I didn’t know. There’d been a time I knew everyone, their brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and even the names of their dogs in our small community.
Rome Hall, my friend Geneva’s younger brother, sauntered up. “Hey, Mercy.”
“Rome.” I pointed to his coffee. “Got any more of that?”
“Huh-uh. But I’ll share this one with you.”
“No way. You’ll give me cooties.”
He snorted at our long-standing joke. “Maybe you should reopen the bar and brew a pot for everyone. We’ll probably be here awhile.”
“If I open the bar I can guarantee you the last thing I’ll be drinking is coffee.”
“I hear ya there.” He sipped. “So who’s the stiff?”
“Jason Hawley.”
“Name isn’t ringing a bell.”
“He works for Titan Oil, and he’s here drumming up support for the pipeline.”
“How’s that going for him?”
“Doesn’t appear to be so good.” I looked at Rome. “Thought you had seniority and didn’t have to pull third shift?”
“I’m filling in for Cutty. He had a hot date.” His gaze drifted over my cheek. “That’s not a dirt smudge I’m seeing, is it?”
“Can’t get nothin’ past you EMTs.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged. “My reflexes were a little slow breaking up a bar fight. It’s sore, but I’m fine.”
“So in addition to doing double duty as the bartender and the bouncer, John-John is slaving you on the close-down crew?”
“There’d have to be more than me for it to be a ‘crew.’”
Rome’s thumb scraped the plastic cover of the coffee cup, in a click-click-click sound. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but how long you gonna keep slinging drinks?”
“Why? Is there a job opening on the county ambulance crew?”
“No. It’s just… you working at Clementine’s seems a waste. I’ve known you since we were kids, Mercy, and you’re not one to settle for the easiest option.”
I bit back a smile at the brutal honesty that was a hallmark of the Hall clan. “True. But options around here are limited.”
“Also true.”
We fell into silence. Law enforcement scurried about while the rest of us stood around. Rome was called over, leaving me alone.
Talking to people kept a lid on my unease, and I could handle my growing anger. Standing alone, not knowing what was unfolding beyond the flashing lights, sent my anxiety off the charts.
My annoyance quadrupled when Kit McIntyre sidled up beside me.
What the hell was he doing here?
“Bet you didn’t mean to say that out loud, Mercy,” he remarked gruffly.
“You’re cruising by Clementine’s at two o’clock in the damn morning just because?”
“No. I heard about this on the police scanner. I figured I’d drive out and have a look-see.”
Seemed fortuitous, Kit tuning in to the scanner in the middle of the night. Almost as if he’d been expecting something bad to happen.
Or he’d made something bad happen.
An icy finger of suspicion slithered down my spine.
Kit’s opinion about Titan Oil was identical to mine. But how far would he go to ensure his interests were served?
As far as he could. He’d employed plenty of dirty tricks to convince me to sell the ranch last summer. And both Kit and his lackey, Cowboy Trey, had been in the bar tonight. As I racked my brain trying to remember what time Trey had left, Kit spoke.
“The real reason I’m here is to see if Dawson is doin’ his job. Some folks are questioning his abilities.”
“Some folks meaning… who? Bill O’Neil?”
“For starters.”
“Is Bill questioning Dawson’s methodology, too?”
“Shouldn’t we all?”
Dawson whistled loudly, and the ambulance backed up. He barked at the firemen. Then his deputies.
“He sure ain’t your daddy, is he?” Kit commented.
With that, I walked away.
Two firemen hustled over to help the EMTs load the body. Jason wasn’t a giant, but moving deadweight was harder than it looked.
Just another fun fact I knew firsthand.
Dawson conferred with his deputies and started toward me. But with each footstep, it became apparent his focus wasn’t actually on me.
His furious gaze remained on the person behind me. “Who called you?”
I turned around. Whoa. Mr. Indian Hottie from the bar had propped himself against a parked car. His position afforded him a bird’s-eye view of everything that’d gone down.
The man shrugged. “Police scanners are public domain, Sheriff. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check it out.”
His inflection held the cadence of a reservation, but he didn’t say more than he had to, so I couldn’t quite place it.
“As you can see, I have it under control,” Dawson said.
“Good to know. See you.” He uncrossed his arms and walked toward the road, vanishing into the darkness.
“Who was that?”
Dawson glared after him, scowling, before he refocused on me. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”
That smart retort got my back up.
“Was Clementine’s busy tonight?”
“Packed to the rafters. Why?”
“I’ll need you to make a list of everyone you remember being in the bar, as well as customers who bought from the package store. Arrival and departure times.”
“No can do.”
“Run that by me again?”
“No.” Before he started his spiel about a crime being committed on the property and my responsibility to grease the wheels of justice, I held up my hand. “For that confidential information, Sheriff Dawson, you’ll have to get a court order.”
He blinked at me as if I were joking.
I wasn’t. “Besides, I’m the lowly bartender. I don’t have the authorization to share that information even if I wanted to. You’ll have to ask John-John and Muskrat the company policy on clientele disclosure.”
Dawson loomed over me, which was never a good move on his part unless we were in bed. “I’ve got a dead guy. As you’re the person who discovered his body, I’d think you’d be eager to cooperate. If not for yourself, for the safety of the patrons who frequent this bar.”
“Right. A murder victim won’t keep customers away, Sheriff, it’ll bring ’em in droves. So try again.”
The ambulance bumped past us, but no other vehicles followed suit. As much as I hated the sound of sirens and the strobe-like effect from the flashing lights, a slow-moving ambulance was worse.
“Full cooperation and full disclosure will clear you from suspicion much faster.”
After the ambulance taillights disappeared behind the rolling hills, I faced him. “You suspect me?”
“You found him. You admitted there were no other witnesses. I’m just following standard procedure, Mercy.”
“Bullshit.”
His shrewd eyes dropped to my right hand, jammed in my jacket pocket. “You carrying?”
Always. Which he knew. “Yes. I have a permit to carry concealed. You want to see it?”
“The permit? No. The gun? Yes.” Dawson turned his head and yelled, “Deputy Moore?”